The Curious Case of Ana Vincent
by UsernamesAreConformist
Summary: After Charles Augustus Magnussun stripped her of her family & life, Ana attempts to kill him but fails to carry out the deed and is punished severely. One torturous year later, she finds herself in London - living with the famous consulting detective as his client, but Sherlock has his own reasons for targeting Magnessun. Unbeknownst to both, Magnussun is not alone on their tails.
1. Chapter 1

She sat, back perching forward in the tall tree, her hands firmly wrapped around the rear grip of her Barrett M82 - also recognized as the M107 by the U.S. government army - with her right eye against the scope of the rifle. A man descended the steps of the lavish looking, modernist home, looking around with a glass of wine in his hand. Her fingers tightened around the trigger, while her mind raced infinitely debating whether this was the right or wrong thing to do.

Her breathing grew strained and heavy, as sweat trickled down her head. She had lost track of time while internally fighting a battle with her consciousness. It was too late, she was losing the battle to her own consciousness. Her fingers loosened around the rifle and she stopped. Her long, dark brown hair fell in front of her face on top of the rifle and she scrambled to tuck it back behind her ear, all the while keeping her eye on the scope as she watched the man turn and start towards the steps on his porch and walked forwards. She still had a chance. She could shoot him in the back of his head right here and now. She closed her eyes and disregarded her consciousness questioning her behind the morality of what she was about to do, and placed her fingers back on the trigger, and her unnatural grey eyes squinting back in to the scope. The man was gone. She panicked and started looking around the exterior of the estate with the scope of the firearm, unable to see her target.

Her heart stopped. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a small red light at the bottom of the tree, making it's way to her. It was the red target light from another sniper. She looked around frantically, trying to find her rope in her duffel bag. She knew it was foolish to try to run away now, but she could not die this way. She refused to die at the hands of the likes of him and his men. Her hands found the rope, but failed to stop shaking due to her panicking, and they fell to the ground with a loud thud as she looked down in horror. It was then that she noticed the red dot on her navy blue tank top, dead centre of her chest. Another red light appeared right next to the first, followed by another, and then another. One pointed to her head, two on her chest, one on her stomach, and the final one above her pelvic bone, trailing lower playfully to her groin region. She closed her eyes in disgust and defeat, and one tear trailed down her flushed, left cheek.

"You've been a very, very bad girl, Ana."

She refused to open her eyes to look at the man, knowing exactly who it was. She let go of the rifle and stood up on the thick branch of the tree. Eyes still closed, she spoke. "What are you waiting for? Why prolong my suffering?"

"Open your eyes, Ana."

She didn't.

"I'm not going to kill you. But if you don't open your eyes immediately as I have instructed, I'll have my men shoot them first, one after the other, considering you don't wish to utilize them when the opportunity arises, and then you'll never see what you hold most dear in the world ever again. And you won't have anyone to blame but yourself."

She bit her lips, and opened her eyes. The man she sat looking through the scope of a Barrett M82 for two days stood at the bottom of the tree, looking up at her, along with 4 heavily armed militant looking men who held rifles pointed at her. The fifth rifle was held by the man

"Now be a good girl and get down. You've caused me a lot of inconvenience for the past two days, having to pretend I didn't know you were there and for that, I need to punish you."

Her eyes opened to an infinite darkness as they tried to adjust to it's settings. There was happy, celebrating yelling all around her, and she could not make out from whence it was coming due to the darkness. Was she underground? She lay on a cold, brick surface with her left cheek pressed against it. There was smoke forming slowly but surely all around her. She was unable to move her mouth to speak, nor move her legs or arms. She looked down to make out why that was so, but saw no type of restrains around her arms that were on the ground in front of her, nor around her ankles. She tried to scream as the smoke started to get more frequent and the darkness around her started to fade as a bright light engulfed all around her. Fire.

_Please! Someone help me! Please get me out of here! I beg you, please, I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die._

No words escaped her mouth, not even a sound. Tears rolled down her expressionless face

She started to feel a tingle in her back, something pushing against her up and down in a very hasty and scared manner. A…hand? It was then that she realized there was someone else placed next to her, that he was most likely placed back to back with her. She could not turn her head to see who it was, nor was that her concern at the moment, for the light started to get brighter and the smoke and heat started to make their way in to her nostrils, mouth and eventually her entire body. She could not even cough due to whatever it was that was stopping her from moving.

Her vision began to blur and then the light started to fade, as she felt drops of something wet trickle down her face, increasing in quantity second by second. The liquid made it's way down her face, and in to her mouth down her throat. Water! It was water! The darkness around her began to fade as the material she was under was lifted from on top of her by a cloaked figure, who clawed at her surroundings desperately. It was then she could make out that she was engulfed by a fortress of wood, and she was now able to move her head a few inches to look to her left. She saw a blonde haired man, passed out behind her and she felt her own head getting lighter due to the ember she had inhaled. Just as fast as she had moved her head, she felt it fall back to the ground and her eyes shut tight as the cloaked figure grabbed the both of them and pulled them by the waist both, out of the wooden grave.

The distinct smell of a hospital creeped in to her nose as her eyes flung open and her senses returned. She looked down to her feet first thing, and watched as she wriggled her toes, then to her right arm as she stared at the second degree burn marks that painted her sleeves and wrists. That arm was placed on top of her left arm, thus - she deduced - would have been caused more damage upon than the right due to the heat. She lifted her left arm and stared at the next to little damage done on it. With it, she lifted the sheets placed carefully on top of her and stood, walking over to the floor mirror next to the bed. She stood in front of it to inspect her body. Removing the hospital gown, she stared at herself, standing confidently nude in front of the mirror. Well, almost nude. She wore coral underwear with black florals. She inspected the wounds. It could have been worse, she supposed. There were some light burn marks scattered on her legs and stomach, but nothing that would leave a scar in the future. Something she could not say the same about regarding her back.

The door flung open behind her, as she stared at the mirror still. A man who had his right fist placed on his chin in a thoughtful manner walked in, wearing a black coat with a purple scarf. He was unaware of her nudity and locked the door behind him as he entered. He lifted his eyes up from the ground to be greeted by her bare back and his expression quickly became blank as he set his eyes on the portrait in front of him. He was entranced by it, in fact. She did not turn, simply looked at him from the mirror, aware of her own state and of his.

"Hello." He was the first to speak.

"Hello." She said back, with a hint of an American accent underlining her now British accent.

She brought her arms forward and covered her breasts, still staring at the mirror, before turning to face him. He kept his eyes glued on her back in the mirror, as she walked forwards towards him. She was now only a few inches from his face, however he continued to look at the mirror rather than her. Whether it was out of curiosity or disgust, she was unsure. She pressed forward on his chest, her hands causing a barrier between his lower chest and her breasts.

"Do you want to touch them?"

She stood almost a foot shorter than he was, and had to look up at him. His eyes now fixed on her shoulders. She could tell he was uncomfortable retaining eye contact with her. Most people usually are due to her eye colours. He nodded. On cue, she turned her back to him. His index finger of his right hand went over the multitude of scars on her back. She closed her eyes and felt his fingers trace the whip and burn marks; each one twice.

"How?" He asked, one eyebrow raised. She noticed his eyebrows were much lighter than his shaggy, curly dark brown hair. Her hair was only a shade darker than his.

"You haven't even bought me a drink and you're asking such personal questions already? You _are_ a confident one, aren't you?"

He smirked. "I'm not the one standing practically nude in front of someone they've just met."

"Technically, we met last night," she turned, "...thank you for saving my life. I'm in your debt."

She walked to the edge of the hospital bed, and bent over in front of him to gather the gown she had thrown on it earlier. Whether this was to tease or unintentional, he was unsure. He continued to look on to her tan back, still curious, not acknowledging the fact that her bare, pink buttocks were right in front of him. She stood back up with the gown in her hand and slid in to it as if it was an every day occurrence. Her eyes closed, she heard a rustle and looked to see him sit on the couch in front of the bed. She sat on the bed, legs crossed and the gown carefully placed over her knees so not to have him see her privates.

"Why were you drugged and placed strategically in the bonfire along with John?" He spoke quickly, looking at her with his hands placed on his chin.

It took her a moment to register who John could be, until she remembered she was next to a man in her "wooden grave."

"I can't recall the events leading up to the bonfire, but -"

"Who did it? Who are you?"

"If you'd have let me finished, I'd tell you," she didn't want to tell him as that would only lead to further questions about her past, ones which she was not comfortable providing answers to momentarily. Regardless, she continued to the best of her abilities, making sure not to give too much about herself away. "If I'm correct, it was a friend of a man called Charles Augustus Magnussen. I do not remember the events that led to my being put in the bonfire as I'm sure I was drugged, but I do not have a good history with the man thus his reasons would be justified. As for who I am, it does not concern you."

She shifted positions in the bed, her burned arm getting tired of being in the position it was in, so she got off and started pacing around the window, holding her burned arm with the other. She was pressing down on it to cease the desire to itch the burns as they were uncomfortably tingling her. The man got off of the couch and exited the room only to come back in within the mere span of two minutes, holding a tub of a vaseline-like substance. He walked over to her and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to face him.

"Stretch out your arm." He ordered, looking at her eyes and not removing his gaze until she was willing to comply. She did.

"It's an Aloe vera and salt solution for burn marks such as yours. It should relieve your need to itch and scratch. My own concoction, before you ask. You involuntarily saved a very dear friend of mine from acquiring the likes of the burn marks which you now have simply by being placed in front of him," Placing the jar on the window sill, he removed his scarf and coat first and undid his cuff links, lifting the sleeves of his lavender shirt up with his left hand. He picked up the jar with the same hand and dipped his right hand in to the jar. He continued, "…whether this was intentional or not by whoever placed you both there, I do not care. I am simply…thankful."

She felt his fingers run along the burns carefully as they both looked down on her arm. The concoction immediately soothed the burns and her shoulder sank lower in satisfaction as she let out an involuntary moan. He smiled to himself when he thought she was not looking, continuing to apply it all over her arm. Her eyes remained closed through out his application of the gel, allowing him the chance to mentally scrutinize her as he would anyone else while she did not notice. Alas, nothing. He could not deduce anything about the women that was not already obvious. He was so totally and completely entranced by her scars, still, that he only wanted to know more about them and her. Her eyes flung open. She looked at him first and then back down her arm which he held in his as he applied the gel, very carefully and elegantly. Finally, he took in how odd but interesting her facial features were. She was a frail looking woman, however the scars all over her body and her vanity contradicted that. She had seen battle, if you'd call it that, however she was not of the military. Her posture was too laid back and her tone was neither assertive nor obedient enough to be a military woman.

He stopped the circular motions he was making on her arm, after having decided he had lathered her everywhere the gel was required and then some. She did not remove her arm from his, aware of this fact, and he simply held on to her hand.

"My name is Ana. Ana Vincent." Finally, she slid her arm down his, finding his hand, and shook it softly.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." He said proudly.

* * *

**This is my first time doing a FanFiction for this website in over 6 years. My previous account was lost, regretfully, and I never got to finish what I once started. Hopefully, it will not be the case this time around. Review and let me know what you all think, please and thank you. I love input and what people would like to see, etc. Thank you for reading. Have a good day.**


	2. Chapter 2

Exiting her room, he stood a few feet away from her door, shuffling through his coat pocket looking for his phone. A red haired female nurse strolled by him, looking at him interestedly. He smiled, awkwardly, not knowing what else to do but that. The woman winked at him as she carried on walking, however continuing to look at him. Disregarding her as if the encounter did not take place, he pulled out a sleek matte black iPhone 5, dialling as quickly as the cold winter winds would allow him. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the nurse's face drop from embarrassment, as she stood waiting for him to look back at her. He had no interest in such endeavours and refused to do so. It was so...human. When it was evident he would not give her the attention she sought, she angrily turned and looked around to see whether someone had witnessed the act or not. Thankfully, it was the latter and she carried on, placing her arms around her body to shelter herself from the cold. The hallways of St. Bartholomew's Hospital were dreadfully, and rather exceptionally, cold on that day due to the heating being replaced and fixed.

He put the phone to his ear, a shiver running down his spine due to the sudden coldness of the metal meeting with his skin.

"Dear brother, to what do I owe the displeasure of a call from you? Is it _Christmas_?" The voice on the other end of the phone spat out, undertones of disgust present as he hissed the the word 'Christmas'.

"Fortunately, it is not. There's a girl at St. Bart's who mentioned Magnessun. I want you to run her name through your system and text me everything, every little detail, Mycroft. Her name is Ana Vincent." Sherlock spat back, hastily, wanting to hang up just as impulsively as he had called him, but his brother continued to speak.

"Magnessun is none of your concern, Sherlock. However, I will do the check just to make sure she isn't about to become a concern."

"Text me."

He put the phone back in his pocket, and walked to the other end of the hallway. Turning left in to one of the rooms, he watched a middle aged nurse tidy the sheets as John stood getting dressed.

"He's all yours to take home." The nurse smiled at the two of them, winking.

"For God's sake, we are not…no, actually, never mind, I am not doing this anymore. Let's go, Sherlock," John turned to walk out of the room as Sherlock followed behind, checking his phone frequently. They walked down the hallway in silence. John had noticed Sherlock checking his phone more often than usual and even tried to have a peak as to what he could be looking at. Only an empty thread of a text message to Mycroft. Odd.

"There was a girl in the bonfire with you," both stopped walking.

"Yes, I think I remember…there was something I felt down there only briefly when my nerves and senses were coming back just before the fire began to spread and you came to get me. Is she alright? Is it someone we know? Who is it?"

"She's fine. No, nobody we know. That's what I'm waiting for Mycroft to tell me, which is why - as you've noticed - I keep checking my phone. She's in that room." Sherlock nodded towards the door behind John.

"Right, I suppose I should go see her…" John stood in front of the door, hesitating and unaware of what to say and do upon seeing the girl. He put his hand on the door knob, but before he could open the door, it opened from the inside and Ana stood in front of John, looking past him with eyes fixed on Sherlock. It was only a few seconds later when Sherlock broke the stare and looked away, that she realized John was also present.

"Your hair…you must have been the man placed behind me." She said.

"I believe so. Under the strange circumstances, I can't quite introduce myself in a more formal manner," John answered nervously, chuckling and looking at Sherlock for assistance.

"Her name is Ana. If not for her, you would have retained some severe burns yourself," Sherlock chimed in.

She reached her arm out for John to shake. As he went to shake it, he noticed the burn marks from where the hospital gown sleeves ended.

"Oh, God, I hope that's not from the fire. I'm so terribly sorry, that should not have happened to you!"

She smiled back before speaking, "Please don't apologize. You don't know me nor were you the cause of what transpired. I'm happy you're safe, and I'm fine too."

"Would you like to come to our, well, his, flat for some tea?"

Sherlock's phone vibrated profusely in his coat pocket, and he pulled it out just as he heard John ask her to come for tea (that, too, to Sherlock's flat which he no longer shared with John) Sherlock and Ana both looked at John stunned. What would there be to talk about between the three? She did not want to know them longer than she had to. She liked her solitude and her ability to not get attached to people. She pondered over the point of having tea with both of them.

"No, I don't think I would," she flatly said.

John and Sherlock looked at her together. Unconsciously, Sherlock placed his phone back in to his coat pocket. That had to be the first time someone said no to tea, John was sure of it. He cleared his throat, not knowing what else to do. The woman made it quite hard to uphold a conversation. "Right…well…thank you once again…and I do hope you're alright." John turned, starting to walk towards the elevator. John had now entered the elevator, descending down to the lobby and exiting the hospital. He assumed Sherlock would simply be at the morgue and thought nothing of it. Sherlock leaned closer to Ana's ear. She heard his lips part to speak, almost whisper.

"I would like it if you come for tea but don't think it's out of guilt or an abundance of feelings, I merely want to know how you know Magnessun."

"You've seen the scars on my back. No, Mr. Holmes, I sincerely doubt you want to know _how_ I know Magnessun."

That wasn't Magnessun's M.O., Sherlock thought. He wasn't someone who liked to get his own hands dirty. It wasn't making any sense to him. She wasn't lacking in conviction, thus he ruled out she could have been lying about her story. However, Sherlock found himself still stood there assessing Ana. Nothing was adding up.

His phone suddenly vibrated intensely once again in his coat pocket, which was pressed against Ana's leg, who then looked down at it.

"Is that your phone or are you just excited to see me, Mr. Holmes?" She smiled. It was then that he realized how little distance between the two there truly was, and it was also then he felt her hands lingering around above his groin and thigh region, eventually reaching his coat pocket, pulling out his phone.

"Ana Vincent," she read the text out loud, "…Dark hair, grey eyes, 5"2, 120 lbs. Attachment: Image The sole late heiress of the Vincent family fortunate in Denmark, a strong family of politicians and journalists, a family of which all members were deemed fraudulent and became bankrupt the very same week Charles Augustus Magnessun publicized the family's involvement in the black market and sex trade and trafficking all over Europe," she stopped at that to bite on her lips, and forcing herself to continue as another text came through, "…Ana Vincent thought to have gone missing since the events three years ago, possibly may be dead at the hands of the women's families who were said to have been sold in the sex trade by Vincent's father, Luther Von Vincent. Father committed suicide following the publication and trials, mother found murdered by two women, and brother also still missing. Brother and sister last seen together in 2010, Scotland.

- MH"

She breathed in hard, arching her head back with great discomfort.

"My family did nothing. Nothing. He ruined us, simply because we were becoming far more successful than his newspaper and we knew he used blackmail and immoral means to get to where he was. There were false testimonies against my brother and father given by women who were paid off by him. Because of his greed, I lost my whole family. Because of his greed."

"Where did you get the scars on your back?" He looked over her shoulders, just as he did earlier. For some reason, him standing over her like that made her afraid, forcing back memories of Magnessun as he prepared to chain and bound her up in the basements day after day for months on end.

"I've told you all I feel comfortable enough telling you. Please, do not make me revisit that."

He didn't.

"Where are you staying?"

"I'm not staying anywhere. I was only brought to London yesterday afternoon."

"Brought?"

"Blindfolded, in a private plane. I know because I felt myself being pushed up a flight of stairs, then being forced to walk while lowering my head and shoved in to a seat, or rather, a seat belt. Then the engines started and I started to get sick as the plane took off, I remember because my head started hurting...then I felt a pinch on my arm, my whole body going numb and blacking out."

"From Scotland."

"No, from Thailand."

"What were you doing in Thailand?"

The question made her squirm. "Please, Mr. Holmes. I don't wish to discuss this matter any further for the day." She put her hand, along with the phone clutched tightly in her palm, in to his coat pocket. She retreated her hand almost instantly, leaving the phone in his pockets. She turned to face his back to him, opening the door to her hospital bed, and entering it. Sherlock did the same, following behind her. She took off her hospital gown, throwing it on the bed. Reflex told Sherlock to look away this time, however she was wearing trousers and a simple long sleeved black top this time around. The tightness of the black shirt made the scarring of whip lash marks and acid burns on her back more prominent, while raising the material, which only perked his curiosity more so.

"I'm a consulting detective, Ms. Vincent."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"No, you're supposed to be grateful because you've just become my newest client."


	3. Chapter 3

Ana sat on the chair pointed towards the two individual sofas which were placed in front of the fireplace. The sunlight paved it's way through the crevices of the dark curtains, illuminating the room without requiring much assistance from the lamp. An elderly woman moved about cleaning the small living abode, paying no attention to the two men - Sherlock and John - that now made their way to the sofas in front of Ana from previously being in Sherlock's bedroom, likely discussing and digesting the information which she had just provided the men with.

"I don't understand." John quizzically looked at Sherlock, as he took his seat on the sofa on the right.

"Of course you don't, John. Ms. Vincent is withholding quite a lot of information from us. Why were you in Thailand, Ms. Vincent?"

"If you're who John and yourself have spent the last three hours trying to convince me of, then I know that you know why, Mr. Holmes." Ana looked away to the arm of her chair, fiddling with a splinter of the wood that came out from her constant nervous plucking. The elderly woman set down the kitchen appliances and exited the room, smiling at Ana before she disappeared.

"Have I missed something?" John stood up, frustrated, and walked to the kitchen to pick up two mugs of coffee. He presented one to Ana and sat down with the other.

"Besides my mug, yes, you've missed quite an ordeal of information," Sherlock turned from John to Ana immediately and continued, getting up and going to the kitchen to pour himself some coffee as well, "I am aware of what you were doing in Thailand, however I wanted to confirm from your own mouth as it is not a delicate matter. You see, John insists I be rather less jumpy to disclose my deductions of clients to them as they are not always something they'd want to be known."

"So what was she doing in Thailand, Sherlock? I'm still lost."

"Look at her overly controlled emotions and commendable apathy. Someone with a history as devastating as hers would surely be oozing out emotions - hell, a waterfall of tears - when talking about it with two strangers, however Ana's learned to master her emotions. At the hospital when you invited her for tea, she aptly refused, suggesting an inability to trust. Specifically, an inability to trust men. I say men because 3 female nurses entered her room and she allowed for them to give her medication, but when the fourth nurse entered - a male - she refused and sent him away to fetch another woman. From that alone, you can tell she's had a traumatic event alter her emotionally, an event after the downfall of her family," he stopped to breath and looked at Ana, asking for permission to carry on. He hesitated, then started again, "She was doing prostitution in Thailand. Forced prostitution. Her undertones of an American and also a British accent suggests she's had a luxurious childhood consisting of quite an abundance of travel between America, England and Denmark, so it (prostitution) could not be out of choice. Wait. Hold on…"

Sherlock stood up and walked over to Ana, tugging on his suit trousers by the thighs and getting comfortable before settling himself down by her feet.

"Lift up your jeans," he commanded. She did so, only up to partially above her ankles. "I take that back. Not prostitution, but slavery. The sex trade. Permanent scars around the ankles resemble that of someone who would have been chained and or tied by the legs, quite frequently. None around the neck indicate…"

John coughed. "Stop, Sherlock."

"The intensity of the scars and the way in which they're scattered all around her ankle and calves suggest she was not tied willingly, therefore it was not a simple fetish of her's and someone intimate, but rather that it was by brute force and she put up a struggle."

Ana let go of her jeans and continued to look at Sherlock who sat with his eyes fixed on her ankles, mouth slightly parted open.

"Magnussun?" John asked, unable to look her in the eyes.

"A friend of Magnussun's. Magnussun himself never laid a hand on me."

"What was his name?"

"I was always blindfolded when he was around, sometimes he'd even put headphones in my ears and play music loudly whilst he commenced to…"

Sherlock winced and stood up off the ground, now facing the fireplace with his mug in hand but with no intent to drink the coffee. He placed it on the ledge on top the fireplace and put his hands behind his back looking forward. Ana continued.

"He was the one to bring me to Thailand from London, where I was brought from Scotland. You see, my brother and I came to hide away in Scotland with a distant relative of my mother's. The following morning, she insisted to enrol my little brother in school under a false pre tense so to allow him to carry on having a (somewhat) normal childhood due to him being 7 years old and being easily distracted from the events occurring around him, as he has autism. As she was driving my brother to school, she was pulled over by a group of men in police attire."

"Murdered."

"She was, yes. I was approached by a man dressed in a fine tailored suit, claiming to be a friend of my father's. He assured me he would pick up my brother and bring him to me and then take me to America, where my father owned a private property which he had not yet had registered to his name. He was going to prior his suicide, you see. I was drugged and brought to London where I was kept and…_worked_ for a considerable period of time before my _transference_ to Thailand. My brother was taken away. Of course not by Magnussun, he never likes to get his own hands dirty, but he does have my brother. He keeps him in his house under the illusion that he's his uncle."

"He can't do that, Sherlock. Can he do that?" John stood up, nearly spilling his mug of coffee.

"He can if nobody questions him or challenges his authority. And when you're as powerful as Magnussun, nobody ever does."

"We'll take Ana to Lestrade, or to Mycroft. Surely they'll be able to do something if we can not." Making his way to the door, John grabbed his coat off the hook hanging behind the entrance door. He took Sherlock's coat and eagerly stretched his hands out, waiting for him to follow him as well. He did not.

"Sherlock?"

Ana turned to face John. "I'm a fugitive in my country, whether I'm guilty or not. Your government is not responsible for me, nor will they feign compassion once the Denmark authorities are made aware of my whereabouts. I can not risk making my presence known more than I already have done so."

She grabbed her own coat, and took Sherlock's and set it back on the hook. Sherlock had not moved at all from where he stood in front of the fireplace. Ana breathed in and opened the door.

"I thank you for listening but I can not have you assist my endeavours as you'd become accessories to harbouring fugitives," she looked away from Sherlock and faced John instead. "I had told Mr. Holmes I was not interested in making a bigger case of this but he insisted I come for tea - or rather coffee - and that I can not be aided. Thank you once again." She stepped out of the room and commenced down the stairs.

Sherlock's phone vibrated and he pulled it out to only to see a text from Mycroft, which simply read "Do not get attached. Remember Redbeard. - MH." He put the phone back in to his pocket before John jolted towards Sherlock in haste, calling his name out and shaking him from his spell of silence.

"You can't let her leave, she's got nowhere to live!"

"What do you want me to do about her failures?"

"For God's sake, it is not her fault. You've got a perfectly empty room above this one which I know for a fact is not being rented out. Stop her and convince her to stay with you, even if temporarily, or so help me God, I will punch you again and this time, much, much lower on your body. Go now!"

"Do you expect me to start inviting every single one of my clients to live with me while I work for them from this point on? People are not pets, John."

"Not every single one of your clients, no, however she is _not _like all of your other clients. She has no home, no family, no where to live and she does not know anyone in the country!"

"Not. My. Problem."

Sherlock marched over to the window, bending down and picking up a violin and started to tune it in an annoyed manner. John stood there with his mouth shut sternly, continuing to stare at Sherlock until he looked his way.

"_What?_"

"I'll give you a pack of cigarettes if you do."

Sherlock set down the violin.

"Will you get rid of the moustache?"

"Why?"

"I can't be seen around an old man. It makes you look _ancient_, John." He walked over to the coat hanger and gathered his trademark black coat and purple scarf, making his way down the stairs and out the door.

John sighed, before leaving the apartment and calling Sherlock a _dickhead_ under his breath.

—

This winter was quite a cold one than any Ana had seen in her adult years. While it lacked in snow, the ferocious winds more than made up for it. She stuffed her gloveless hands in to the pockets of her coat in an attempt to warm herself, but it was useless as there was an evident hole on the inside which allowed for the wind to seep through enough to make her uncomfortable enough.

"Ms. Vincent!"

Ana turned around to see a familiar red faced, curly haired man running behind her waving his right arm to draw her attention. She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him as he lessened his pace after realizing she had, in fact, spotted him. He caught his breath as he walked her way. Ana struggled to keep her eyes open because of the bright sun shining straight in to her vision, blocking her from seeing anything for a brief second, the very second in which she found herself standing in front of the man. Thankfully, his tall figure blocked the sun as he looked down at her once more.

"Mr. Holmes."

"Ms. Vincent."

"I am sorry to have troubled you, but I can not —" She stopped mid-sentence as he looked away, wincing. It was then that she looked down to see him removing his gloves and handing it to her. She wasn't sure what he expected her to do with them. "Put them on, Ana."

"That's the first time you've said my first name while addressing me. And here I was getting quite used to Ms. Vincent," she guiltily took his gloves, accidentally brushing her cold hands with his warm ones, making him shudder. "When you say Ms. Vincent, I finally feel like I'm a respectable human being again. God, I'd forgotten I was one for a while."

They started walking together after she said that, both silent for a brief moment.

"I—"

"I—"

Both said at the same time, making Ana smile to herself and lower her head to allow him to continue.

"There's a restaurant I know. Let me take you to dinner, Ms. Vincent."

She thought it over, Sherlock noted, much longer than she thought over John's proposal for tea, thus she likely wanted to go for it. She declined nonetheless. _How expected_, he thought.

"I will not hurt you. Judging by how comfortable you were around me when I walked in to your room in the hospital when you stood nearly nude tells me that you know this for a fact, yet you are trying to force yourself to believe otherwise. Which is natural considering what you've gone through and I do not judge you for that. John will not hurt you either. While I agree with you in not trusting the mass of the populace, good people are not entirely mythical. They do exist."

"Are you asking me to lower my barriers?"

"Not at all, in fact, you'd be naive to do so. But perhaps not punish yourself as to maintain them 24/7."

"Alright. You're paying."

"Not necessary, the shop owner owes me a favour and will gladly serve anyone he spots in my company."

He lifted the collars of his coat to mask his cheeks from the wind coming from the East, hitting his face directly. Luckily for Ana, his large frame lessened the hurt for her from the winds. She looked at him, wanting to continually give him her thanks, and just as she was about to speak, he came to a sudden stop, looking up above her head. Before she could ask why he had stopped, he was walking in to the small door of a tiny diner-esque place, as she followed.

The next half an hour was spent in silence while waiting on their orders, neither left with much to say, or rather, not knowing where to start. The restaurant owner came over to say hello to Sherlock, and stayed to praise him until he was needed in the kitchen. Frankly, Ana was relieved he had come to add something between the less than limited conversation between him and her. The food was delivered, and Ana eyed her plate of cream cheese and spinach fettucine with delight, waiting for Sherlock to start first before herself. As soon as he lifted his fork to delve in to his food, she did the same, although with much more excitement than him.

"There was something of importance I wanted to discuss with you, regarding your living quarters and other necessities the entirety of your stay in London," he bit on the small piece of meat which latched on to his fork. His eyes remained on his food as he spoke, until the metal of Ana's fork clashed against her plate, dropping from her hand.

"Sorry, I — uh, the fork, I didn't —"

"It's fine," he set down his fork and placed his hands under his chin, a sight all too familiar to Ana now. "We'll talk first, then eat, if that's what you prefer."

"Thank you," she straightened the fork in the plate and looked at him. "To be honest, I hadn't thought of that. I could go to America —"

"But you won't because your brother is here. _Sentiment_."

"Do you have a brother, Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes."

"Then you'd know the extents one is willing to go to for their siblings."

It was admirable, really. Sherlock had the advantage of having a brother in the British government - in fact, he was the British government - and he had never been in her position so he could not relate, but he found her loyalty and love admirable nonetheless, if not naive.

"Say Magnussun has your brother —"

"It is a matter of fact that he has my brother."

"How do you know that?"

"Because before I was taken to Thailand, as I told you and Mr. Watson, I was first brought to London and kept in an underground facility which I ran away from, stealing some equipment from the weapons garage and I went to Magnussun's home. For two days, I hid in a tree and watched him, making sure he didn't hurt my brother —"

"Two days?" Sherlock lifted his left eyebrow.

"Yes, two days—" Ana continued.

"Why two days?"

"If you'd just let me fin—"

"Sorry, habit." He smirked.

"I tried to kill him!"

Thankfully, the restaurant was not too packed that night and nobody was in her vicinity to have heard what she'd almost nearly screamed out. "And failed." Sherlock said, picking up his fork and started to break pieces of his food and start eating again.

"Which is when he got impatient with me and took me to his friend I also mentioned, sending me to Thailand. I was there for a year up until yesterday."

"Why you, Ana Vincent? Why that specific bonfire, why along with John?"

"I don't know, Mr. Holmes. You're the detective, not me."

"Indeed I am. We've digressed. I do apologize, it is a bad habit of mine…along with many others. What I wanted to tell you was that you will stay with me during the duration of the investigation and events that transpire and until we can arrange something for you. There's a spare room upstairs right above my bedroom which will be yours from now on and of course you will be sharing the kitchen and bathroom facilities with me. I will not take no for an answer, and as John has made it quite clear, neither will he. Now eat."

She did not question him nor want to, happy at the offer and rather flushed since this was the nicest act of kindness anyone had bestowed upon her in a very, very long time. She picked up her fork once more and did as she was told.

"I do hope you don't mind me playing the violin at odd hours of the night."

"It would be a pleasure and an honour, Mr. Holmes. I love the violin."

"Just Sherlock. Not Mr. Holmes. Please, Ana."

The two ate in unison, savouring the taste of the food and the moment itself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Before I begin the chapter, I'd like to make a few things very clear. I am following the timeline of the events as they take place in the TV series, however I do not believe in taking an entire scene and merely rewriting it, only adding a few of individual new lines. That is pure laziness. I will not be doing that (very much) and you will see that I am more interested focusing on my own story as opposed to what the TV series focuses on, however I will still keep most of the main characters the same and mentions of events the same.**

**I hate begging for reviews but I really do want your input, what you like & and dislike, what you want to see more of and what you want to see less of so do review and do follow the story as I will update quite frequently. To those few who did review, thank you!**

**Warning: The end of the following chapter contains scenes of a horribly graphic nature.**

* * *

Sherlock and John had been busy that night and Ana was left in the apartment by herself. She was seated in the same chair she was in earlier that morning when she told Sherlock about her ordeals over the last few years. He had left her his spare phone, and she debated calling to ask when he would be back. The clock struck 11 PM, adding to her anxiety with each tock of the clock. It was then when the door creaked open, and Sherlock peered only his head in. He looked around the room until his eyes locked with Ana's grey eyes, and he pulled his entire body through the frame, shutting the door behind. He held a plastic bag in his hands which hung from his right hand along with the apartment keys and his phone.

He walked over to the table and chairs in the centre of the kitchen while Ana looked away to not give away the fact that she had been pleased to see him. Setting the plastic bag on the table, he pulled a chair out and sat, looking up to her seconds after she looked away. He looked down to her hands; the right one playing with another splinter of wood that came out the arm of the chair, and her left one holding tightly on to the phone he had left her with. He observed how the palm of her left hand was sweaty, suggesting she'd held on to it for a while, probably deciding whether to call him or not. He smiled to himself, before going back to his tired expression.

"Come sit. I grabbed some drinks and food for you. It's Chinese. The food anyways." He reached his hand in to the plastic bag, pulling out two rectangular boxes piled on top of each other, and two cans of an energy drink.

She collected herself and put on a pair of slippers which Mrs. Hudson, the older lady she had seen earlier, had given her. Along with many other clothes and personal hygiene products Ana might require in case she is too shy to ask Sherlock and John of. She dragged her feet to the kitchen table, still clenching the phone in her hand and sat opposite to Sherlock. She had already begun living with him, and she did not want to enter his personal space too much in case he was the type to think of it as clingy or needy.

Sherlock patted on the chair right next to him and smiled her way. She got off the chair she was already sitting on, and sat next to him instead. He handed her the take out box and can of energy drink and the two began to ate.

"Thank you, Sherlock." She swallowed the dumpling and made sure nothing was in her mouth before she spoke, making sure not to make eye contact with him.

"For giving me a place to live, the food, everything. But I can't have you spending so much on me without feeling a little bit of —"

"There's no need to feel guilty. That's the nature of money, it comes, it goes. Futile to wallow over such a funny little concept." He struggled with his chopsticks, adamant to get the dumpling on to the damned thing and in to his mouth.

"Except it's not so little. My father taught me the value of money and to never take it for granted and I don't plan to start doing that now, and use the last two years of hardship as some method of justification to extort your money and generosity —"

Growing frustrated (and slightly amused) by Sherlock's struggle, Ana took his chopsticks and held them in her hand, showing him how to do so. She then returned them back to him. He took it and looked at her gratuitously, before bringing a dumpling to his mouth and holding it there. He didn't put it in his mouth yet, but instead started to speak.

"It's not extortion when it's being done out of a person's will of genuinely wanting to do it." He bit the dumpling.

She blushed and continued to eat, both quiet for the next fifteen minutes while finishing their food. After they had finished, Sherlock took the leftover and box, and threw it in the garbage. He picked up the energy drink and drank it down in one sip, turning to face her from the living room.

"Get up." He spoke so quietly, she had to come closer to him to hear what he was saying.

"What?"

"Go inside my room, close the door very quietly and be still. Now."

She did as she was instructed, closing the door behind her and sliding down to sit against the door. With her back against the door, she turned her head to the left and put her ear to hear what was happening. Seconds after she had come in to the door, she heard the door of the living room pry open, and an object tapping against the ground, getting closer and closer to her.

"Brother mine." Sherlock simply looked at the short, funny looking man in front of him, still holding the energy drink. Thankfully, Ana had taken her energy drink to the room and the garbage had been cleared out so as not to leave any trace of Ana for Mycroft to see.

Mycroft looked around, inspecting the apartment.

"You know, all you have to do is ask if you want me to hire a housekeeper. Although I suppose Mrs. Hudson —"

"Mycroft!"

Ana heard Sherlock's voice raise, almost surprising and shaking her.

Sherlock walked around Mycroft and went to sit on the sofa behind him. Mycroft sat down on the couch in front of him, setting his cane next to the arm rest of the couch while moving about to get comfortable. Ana could no longer hear their conversation, just faint voices, talking. She closed her eyes, only realizing how tired she had been. That, and the massive box of Chinese she had just completed put her in a blissful daze. Sherlock had bought her food for the second time in one day and she was still guilt ridden, although sleep was a bigger concern of hers for the time being. When she found herself dozing off, she quietly moved her body and laid down on the floor, not wanting to get in his bed for three reasons. One, it would creak and make more noises than the floor could manage and two, she did not feel right. Lastly, she did not ever want to be in a man's bed again.

Outside, Sherlock and Mycroft commenced talking about a case he had been on that evening with John unbeknownst to Ana.

"Congratulations on preventing a terrorist attack. I would have brought a cake but I'm afraid the bakery down the road doesn't have one with that precise text."

"Don't try to be funny, Mycroft. Never try to funny."

Mycroft's smile faded to a grumpy frown.

"Anyways," Mycroft sat upright and leaned in closer to Sherlock, with his hands placed on his knees, "Before I go, how is that woman? Ana Vincent? I hope you received my text, since I didn't get a response from you afterwards."

"She's fine." Sherlock gave Mycroft an empty, emotionless look - wanting to be careful of giving away any sign of his lying.

"Don't try to lie to me, Sherlock. Never try to lie to me."

"John and Mary are taking care of it. I have far too much going on to babysit a fugitive, Mycroft." Sherlock got up, walking over to the kitchen and then eventually to the fridge.

"Indeed you do, brother mine," Mycroft stood up, picking up his cane, "But remember this for your future…endeavours, let's call it. People are not pets, Sherlock. Don't make them so. Granted, they die eventually and there is no assurance of them outliving you, but you - we - can not be attached to them. We can not give them the love they require. It's not…us."

Sherlock took out a jar full of transparent liquid. Inside the jar, there were three cow tongues jammed inside. Pretending like he had not heard Mycroft's advice, he walked over to the sink and emptied the liquid, being careful as not to drop the tongues in to the sink.

Mycroft grumbled and started to walk out of the apartment, until a small yelp came from Sherlock's bedroom. Noticing that, he looked over to Sherlock who was clearly jolted by it as well.

Ana lay unconscious on the floor, sweat starting to form around her temples. Her body in a fetal position, she buried her head deep in to her knees and although she was asleep, she kept her mouth pressed against her pyjama bottoms and knees so to keep herself from making any noises in her unconscious state which she had a habit of doing when she had nightmares of her year spent in Thailand.

Despite her best effort to not make a noise, one very tiny one did escape. If it was any one other than the Holmes brothers, the noise would go amiss and nobody would have noticed however, unfortunately for her, it was.

"Mice. There's a mouse in my room, I'm conducting a new genetic experiment regarding brain tumour. I think I'm on to something." Sherlock still did not look at Mycroft as he spoke, afraid he would give himself away if he did.

"So which one is it?" Mycroft mused.

"Sorry?"

"You said mice and mouse. So which one is it? Is it a mouse or is it mice?" Mycroft asked, twiddling with his cane while looking at the door curiously.

"Are you going to be long here? I have to go to the morgue and I'm waiting for you to leave so I can lock up." Sherlock answered, avoiding the question hoping Mycroft would simply think he had not heard it in the first place. Another habit of his as pointed out by John.

Mycroft smiled and exited the apartment. Sherlock quickly went to close his curtains before walking quickly to his room. He held the door knob, twisting and opening the door slowly in case she was leaning against it. He did not want to hit her accidentally, and he didn't. Walking in to the room, he looked around until he looked at the ground where Ana lay curled up in a ball. He stood there holding the knob, not knowing what else to do. He sighed and lifted the creases of his trouser and bent down on his knees. He reached his hand out and placed it on her shoulder, shaking her slowly.

"Ana…" Quiet, but loud enough for her to hear, he shook her shoulders.

"Ana, get up."

Ana opened her eyes and looked up at him, eyes red and face pink, with dried tears down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to —"

"It's fine, Ana." Sherlock got back up, giving her his hand and she picked herself up as well. "Good night, Ms. Vincent."

Ana walked dreamily out of his bedroom and up the stairs to her own bedroom, knocking herself in to the wall two times before finding her bed and falling down on it in the same position she had been in on Sherlock's floor.

For an hour, no sleep came. When it did come, Ana shuffled in the bed, gripping on the bedsheets and duvet and pulling it off of the bed - hurling them to the floor. Sweat trickled down her temples, eyes wide shut in her slumber. Her fingers let go of the bedsheets, and she subconsciously lay in the bed in a fetal position facing the window. The sweat continued to flow, her entire body shuddering and tears forming around the eye ducts. Her lips formed a strained, pained expression as she slept while her mind collected memories of the last year and played them in her head, over and over again.

"_Spread your fucking legs." _

_Ana did so, not wanting to disobey and be punished for not doing what she was told. This had become an every day occurrence now for the past three months, and she'd seen first hand where disobeying would get the other girls. She did not want to be in that position again. Her back still hurt from the acid thrown on it a month ago when she last went against what the men had ordered her to do. She didn't even know what they looked like, only the pain of the things they were capable of doing to her._

"_Did you hear me, you stupid slut?" His voice roared in the empty cell-like room, as he placed his body on top of her, positioning his groin directly on top of hers, grinding the belt buckle against her pelvis. _

_She spread her legs, crying, and allowing him passage to bite and lick at her neck and breasts. Her hands hung from the ceiling, held tightly together with an intricate twisting of ropes and other instruments she had not been familiar with. She felt him move his body off of her after two minutes or so of molesting her body. Because she was blindfolded, she had to rely on her hearing to expect what was to come. The man paced around the room and returned to where she was hung, standing for a few seconds before he grabbed her shoulders and turned her body to have her face his back to him._

_Whoosh._

_A wave of tears rolled down her cheeks, without stopping as he struck her backside and legs with a leather whip nonstop for two minutes, switching angles every few seconds. The whip hit the burns from a month ago, making the bandages ooze with blood once more. Her toes curled inwards on the cold, wet brick floor, while her legs shut tightly in response to the whip. Her mouth was pegged shut with clamps to stop her from screaming and disturbing the cells next to hers belonging to other sex slaves, for they'd be going through the same thing as her right now. When it wasn't pegged, it would be stuffed with her own blood engulfed underwear or the men's underwear or something equally as vile._

Her sweating carried on as she bit in to the pillow, under the impression that it was one of the many things they would have her bite on when they raped her.

_She felt blood drip down her legs from her back, still standing on her toes. The man stopped and came to stand in front of her. He tugged at the clamps before he removed them, biting her bottom lip and pulling on it hard until he drew blood from them too. She screamed softly and cried, bitting her lips to stop the flow of the blood. He picked her face up by her chin, holding it in front of him and admiring his handy work. _

"_Please stop. Please." She begged, stifling back the noises and tears._

"_Why would I ever stop? This is so much fun."_

"_Stop." Another voice boomed, as the door of the cell opened. A man walked through, towards Ana. His voice was much softer. She didn't recognize it. She didn't care, at least the other man let go of her face and exited the room, but not before slapping her ass and squeezing his nails deep in to her skin. She bit her lips again._

"_Hello Ana. You look very beautiful today." The mysterious man spoke. His voice was too out of place for a place like this. It was playful sounding, almost innocent. _

"_Oh my, I almost forgot. Silly *me*," he drew his hands from his trouser pockets and pulled out headphones and a small iPod, which he placed on top of her left nipple and held there. He looked around the room until he found the clamps on the ground, and he grabbed a chunk of her skin, along with the iPod and clamped it together. _

_He put the earphones in to her ears and fiddled with the iPod briefly, disregarding her breasts and body when his knuckles brushed against it. Oh no, please not him, please, Ana thought. This was the first time she was hearing his voice although she was far too familiar with his methods. She would never forget his voice, even if she was to only hear it once. Then, the music started as he smiled to himself. _

_Stayin' alive, stayin' alive, ha, ha, ha, ha, I'm stayin' alive… _


	5. Chapter 5

Her eyes opened and she panicked briefly, not recognizing the dark oak which her face was pressed up against until she lifted herself off of the ground and realized she had fallen off the bed. She tried her hardest each morning to erase the dreams from the night before, but they weren't just dreams, they were reality. They were her reality. Shaking off the headache and her thoughts, Ana made her way to the window so to be able to open the curtains. Before she even got anywhere near the window, she heard footsteps making their way up the stairs outside in a quick manner and the door opened after a familiar voice called out her name.

"Ana?" Sherlock peered his head in, "I heard a loud bang while in my study, I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I seemed to have fallen off the bed. I'm—"

"No need to apologize. Come downstairs and have some breakfast before my client comes in."

"Your client?" Ana refrained from letting her yawning escape her and tried her hardest to maintain eye contact with Sherlock as he spoke. Instead, she tried to look on the ground but she was met with a white bed sheet where Sherlock's feet should have been. She looked up and it was then that she realized that Sherlock was not in fact wearing anything at all - that is, anything but a bed sheet he held wrapped around his body as he peered his head in through the door.

"Consulting detective, me, yes. Do try to keep up."

"Are you wearing a bedsheet?" Ana stifled back a laugh.

"Yes. What's wrong with a bedsheet?" Sherlock quizzically asked her at once, looking down at his choice of appearance.

"Is it comfortable?"

"Very." He peered his head out of the room.

She reached for the curtains before she heard Sherlock spoke again, "Considering I'm harbouring a fugitive, I highly suggest you do not open those curtains at the present moment." And then he was gone and she was alone again.

She realized she wore the same clothes from two days before and was not too fond of wearing the ones Mrs. Hudson gave her for various reasons, the primary of those being that they were not hers. Ana was a very prideful girl from a very prideful family; to rely on others was not something the children were taught to do or take part in, however they were taught to help those that needed it. It was the perfect balance. She already felt guilty and apologetic about being given a room by Sherlock to live in without her being able to give him anything in return, that she did not intend to utilize more of his resources than necessary. He was going out of his way to buy her food and allowing her to use his facilities, she had to find a way to pay him back or at least take some of the responsibility herself. She had never had to work before, but it was time to grow up and be responsible.

Smelling herself, she was glad the sweating at night wasn't as bad as she thought and there was no distinctive odour or sweat stains. She sprayed perfume graciously on her body regardless, being careful not to let it get on her burn marks on her arms and legs which were healing very slowly for her liking. The second degree burn marks from the bonfire still marred her body, but the pain had sibsided greatly and she was able to move her body without wincing with each motion. Despite that, some areas still responded when her garment and hygienic products made contact with them. As soon as her body was fully healed and she formulated a plan as to what she was going to do regarding her living accommodations and whatever else that would be needed, Ana would leave here instantly. She sat on the bed now, before realizing the throbbing pain in her head was still present. She laid back down on it and closed her eyes once again, only to immediately open them.

A few minutes had passed and she nearly forgot she was asked to come down in the first place. Picking herself off the bed, she made her way down the stairs and directly in to the living room, where she was greeted by John. He offered her a seat on the sofa next to him, patting on it but she declined and walked over to the kitchen first where Sherlock sat on the table looking in to a microscope. He was no longer in his bedsheets, but rather a Burgundy velvet robe which accentuated his body better than she'd seen it do to anyone else. His collar bones and pale skin were highlighted especially as the sun fell on him from the window. Ana couldn't help but be entranced by how perfect his skin was. She caught herself staring at him, but he had not realized this and continued to look in to the microscope. It was then that she realized what she had been doing when John coughed and smiled to her from behind his newspaper. When Sherlock looked to him, he was immersed back in the newspaper and Ana looked away quickly trying to figure out how to work the coffee maker. Sherlock brushed it off and went back to his experiment.

"Nice bed sheet, by the way." Ana gave up on the machine and came to sit in front of him.

"Clothes are boring and distract me from thinking. On the rare occurrences that I do get some sleep, I'm awake earlier than more than half of the commonwealth and did not expect to have a client - let alone you and John - at this house. I hope you didn't mind."

"This isn't my home, it's yours. Of course I don't mind." she fiddled with her fingers, still not looking at him as she spoke. The rustling of the newspapers indicated John was done with them, and seconds later he managed to join the two in the kitchen. He had noted that Ana was attempting to work the machine earlier and gave up in a frustrated manner, so he went to pour some in for her before he sat down on the table, handing her the cup. She smile warmly and accepted, and he smiled back at her.

"You've got questions," Sherlock continued, without removing his eyes from the two eye holes of the microscope, "Your constant fidgeting and indecisive inability to make eye contact with me is more than obvious. And loud."

"Who was that man that came last night? Does he know that I'm here? I know I shouldn't have been eavesdropping last night, even though it was hard to even if I wanted to, but you yelled and —" Ana stopped herself there, thinking she was outstepping her boundaries.

"You asked me if I had a brother, that was him. No, I don't think he knows and even if he did, you have nothing to worry about."

"He's the British —" John spoke, with sudden panic in his voice.

Finally, Sherlock looked up at Ana - completely disregarding John - and assured her in an almost forceful manner. "Nothing to worry about. That wasn't what you wanted to ask me, though, what was it?"

How did he know?

"No. I wanted to ask if it was possible for me to go out today and look for a job, since if I'm staying here, I should be able to pay for my own food and facilities."

"You're right, you should."

"Sherlock!" John groaned in annoyance. Again being ignored, Sherlock got up and retrieved a rather old looking sandwich from the fridge and commenced to eat it.

"However, instead of you going out, I know a place that's hiring within a minute's proximity of this very room."

"You do?" Ana looked up.

"Well…not necessarily hiring but they will hire if I tell them to hire. The owner owes me a favour. There's a very small restaurant located directly behind this apartment, and if you exit from the back entrance of the garden, you'll find yourself opposite the back entrance of the kitchen of the bar."

"Does the entirety of the commonwealth owe you a favour or what?!" As if John had read Ana's mind, he said smiling with a hint of gratefulness in his voice. This left Ana stunned. Why were these two so keen on helping her? Albeit Sherlock had his unusual method of doing so whereas John was far more forward about it. She was just a stranger to them.

"No, not the entire commonwealth," Sherlock tightened his robe and got up, shoving the sandwich away in disgust, although it was nearly finished at this point, "...but the day's only just begun" He began to pace the living room impatiently, jumping from the window to the fireplace within a second and then sat down on the sofa with his legs crossed, one above the other, in the most childish manner.

"Where the bloody hell is this client?"

Ana was confused, he was so calm and collected only a few minutes ago and now he had gone from 0 to 60 without even a warning. John leaned in towards her as she brought the mug to her lips shrugging off Sherlock.

"He does that sometimes. A bad habit of his," John spoke quietly. "but he's a good man."

"I don't doubt it." Ana found herself at conflict within her head again. Having heightened her barriers over the last few years, it was near impossible to lower them again to another man let alone two of them. Could she really trust them? What if they had ulterior motives regarding her and this was just a sick way for them to extort whatever it is they wanted from her? Could they be playing a sick game with her, despite knowing her past? Did they see her as another easy whore to play around with? She clenched harder on to the mug, but kept her facial expression the same. John wasn't as observant as Sherlock, she had realized by now. It was a relief he was consumed in his own antics than dissecting her otherwise he would know what was on her mind. She took a long sip, sitting with John who seemed to be beginning to get rather restless as well. He constantly looked at the watch on his wrist and was beginning to sweat as well although it was the middle of the winter.

The doorbell rang, and both Sherlock and John jolted towards the door. Ana got up and walked over to the computer table and sat in front on the chair instead of the sofas. She put her legs on the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees and put her chin on the knees as she watched an elderly woman walk through as John helped her to sit on the "client's chair" as he had told her. The woman looked at Ana in an odd manner, almost as if she recognized her. A shiver ran down Ana's back. When everyone was sat, Ana couldn't look away from the woman who didn't look away from her. Sherlock and John shared a confused look.

"Do you…um, do you know this woman, Ana?" John looked at Ana.

"No…she's scaring me, John."

The woman dressed as if she was of Gypsy heritage, with various rings of different colours stones adorning her fingers and many piercings on her lips and body. Her hair was long and wavy, not a hint of white or grey in it which was remarkable considering the wrinkles on her skin indicated her age to be anywhere from 75-85. She wore a black, dress like tunic with gold embroidery around the neck, and a red and black corset which barely clung to the little flesh on her body.

"Moriarty."

The woman looked at Ana, pointing her frail finger and then back to Sherlock who looked at Ana again. John's face had gone pale and he stared at Sherlock. All the while, Ana was confused.

"What does that mean? What's a _Moriarty,_ Sherlock?" Ana put her legs down on the ground and looked at him eagerly. He continued to look at her, up and down. Unbeknownst to Ana, Sherlock was analyzing every movement of hers, every change in expression, and everything she was saying.

"What do you mean by Moriarty?" John stood up and hovered over the old woman.

"She knows," she looked back at Ana, "Poor girl. She knows him very well even though she doesn't know she knows."

"Alright, that makes no sense. What are you playing at?"

"What does she mean I know? Who's Moriarty?" Ana got out of the chair and was ready to walk to the door. Who or what was Moriarty? Was it one of Magnessun's mens who had found her? Did Sherlock and John told them about him. "Did you sell me out to someone?! Oh god, what did you do?" She grabbed her black coat off the hanger and John ran towards her. John and Sherlock's impatience she noticed earlier suddenly began to make sense to her. They were going to sell her to someone, she was sure of it. Panic and anxiety made their way crawling up to Ana's throat and tears formed in her eyes, blinding her with fear.

"Stop, Ana, it's not like that! Be still," he grabbed the other side of the coat and Ana tugged it towards her in a futile attempt, as Jon held on to it tightly. He could tell she was having a panic attack and talked her through it, assuring her it was not what she was thinking.

The two looked back at Sherlock who had not shifted an inch from his position. The woman and him were locked eye to eye.

"He's dead," he said. "Moriarty is dead. Who are you?"

"I see things and I know who you are, Mr. Holmes, and I know Ana Vincent and I know who she knows. All the men that have been inside her, taking turns —"

Ana let go of the coat and ran to the woman, intent on slapping the woman. When she reached the vicinity, the frail body of the woman stopped her.

"What do you mean you know?" Ana grabbed the woman by the neckline of her dress instead, rattling her body in her hands. The woman struggled and Ana let go upon John grabbing her arms and pulling her away.

"I'm a psychic, you see," the woman brushed off the creases on her dress and sat back down. Sherlock scoffed at that, and perched his back in the sofa at once. John sighed and sat down as well.

"Moriarty's been dead for two years," Sherlock put his left leg on top of his right, "You conspiring gypsies and your backwards, fraudulent beliefs. If it were the middle ages, maybe someone would take you seriously however unfortunately for you, it is not. You know nothing and try to profit off of the naivety of others. You advertised yourself as a client under a false name and occupation, only to waste mine and my colleague's time, exploiting and perturbing an already mentally scattered woman by harassing her. Show yourself out before I call the police and have you arrested for identity theft."

The woman stood up and continued to walk to the door. When she walked past Ana, she looked at her in a sympathetic manner, almost pitiful. When she had gone, John sat back down to where he was sitting prior to the disturbance. Ana stood by the door where she was and could not shake off the fear and grew anxious. She gripped her coat in her hands tightly.

"How did she know I was here? Is this a joke?"

"No, it isn't a joke," John turned to Sherlock, "How did she know Ana was here? And what did she mean she knows?"

Sherlock hesitated.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly inane explanation. Regardless, Moriarty is dead."

"Who's Moriarty?" Ana's grip on her coat stayed tightened.

"A very dangerous - and a very dead - man," Sherlock got up and grabbed his coat which was hung next to Ana. He opened the door and urged for her to exit, "Let's go to that restaurant and talk about your new job. John, do clean up and lock when you leave."

As the two exited, John shouted back while running behind them.

"I don't live here anymore," he locked the door and grumbled under his breath, "…and I am certainly not your housemaid, Sherlock!"

A few miles away from 221B Baker street, the gypsy woman who had terrorized Ana got out of the a black limo in front of a small condominium on a quiet and empty hill top community. She stood by the vehicle, pulled out a cigarette and waited for a man to peer his head through the window as it rolled down. When he didn't, she pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and knocked on the window a few times.

"Hey, where's my fucking money?" She banged on the window again and again, frantically and pissed off.

"I did what you wanted me to do, now where's my fucking money, you cocksucker?!"

The old woman pressed all of her body weight on to the limo, which started to move slowly down the hill. The woman banged more and more, and the car stopped at once. The window rolled down a few inches, and the old woman collected herself.

"Fucking deaf cunt," she reached her hand inside anticipating the money she had been promised, "It's about god damn time."

A gunshot.

The man inside stuck out a gun and shot her hand, but the bullet missed all but two of her fingers and pierced the old woman's stomach as she fell on to the ground and her body began to roll off the hill as the car slowly drove by along with her body, watching each turn of it. When the body stopped moving and lay still on the side of the pavement, the limo then again stopped. A man inside opened the door and came out of the limo, _Stayin' Alive_ playing quietly on the radio inside. He carefully stepped over the body, and bent down next to it. The chauffeur came out of the car at this moment and as he proceeded to haul the woman's body in to the limo with him, the other man stopped him. He grabbed the still lit cigarette and put it in his mouth, inhaling it a few times before coughing and spitting on the corpse.

"These things will kill you, don't you know?"


	6. Chapter 6

It was past midnight and Ana had just finished her last shift of the month. As tired as she was, she was not in the mood to go home just yet. The entirety of her month and more stay in London, she had not once left the safety of Baker Street. While she wasn't an extrovert to begin with, nor did she care about sight seeing, it was getting a little lonely in the apartment for her liking. During her shift, Ana wandered out of the restaurant a few times to see whether the lights in Sherlock's apartment would turn on indicating his return home. They did not. John's fiancée, Mary Morstan, had stopped by earlier to the apartment just before Ana's shift. Naturally, John and Sherlock were called in for a case shortly after. He was probably still with John or somewhere else focusing on his odd experiments, and probably would not even notice that she came home a few minutes later. Who was she kidding? This was Sherlock, after all. She learned by now that nothing got past him, even the traces of dust that would collect on her clothes from hanging in the restaurant while she worked.

You'd think Sherlock's personality would be enough to keep Ana entranced by it and happy, but there was very little verbal communication between him and her since she had started to work. When he wasn't on a case or showing off his ability to deduce everything on the planet - nay, in the universe - he wasn't much of a talker. As for John and Mary, they would always try to keep her feeling included in their conversations whenever they were around - which was not very often. When John and Mary did so, Ana made it a mission to keep out of their lives as much as she possibly could despite the happy couple's best efforts. In an attempt to avoid that connection, Ana had taken up nearly ten hour shifts a day, often only coming home (a word she had yet not gotten comfortable with) to bathe, sleep and then back to work once again.

She appreciated John's approaches, but an emotional attachment with these people and a domestic life was not what Ana wanted nor was she able afford at the moment. Although, it would be a lie to say that Sherlock had not enticed a certain emotion out of Ana. Over the last month, even though the conversations between the two were lesser than weekly, Sherlock seemed to have taken quite an interest in her. At least in terms of her wellbeing and health, but she knew he would never admit this to her. He had just as much pride as her, if not more.

Three weeks ago, Ana had caught a cold due to the seeping cold through the hole in her pocket which she attempted to sew, but did not hold for very long. Despite this, she went to work each day and when she got home, there would be tea and soup or something for her, which Sherlock would leave for her before he went back to the hospital he would often go to. At first, Ana assumed these would be just left overs, but one night when John came to visit, he was thrown off and claimed that Sherlock had never done that before and there were never any left overs. When she was better, Ana had noticed Sherlock walk past the restaurant a few times during the week while she was working. Whether it was purely coincidental or not, she'd have liked to think he was keeping an eye out for her. Perhaps secretly, she wanted to sit down with him and get to know more about him. He knew so much about her that it was almost unfair. He was more than a mystery. It was almost supernatural. Sure she could go on the internet seeing as how notorious John made him out to be, but that would be cheating. Ana wanted to hear everything straight from Sherlock.

Elias, the boy of few words whom she worked with, offered to keep her company despite finishing his shift three hours before her, but Ana humbly denied. He was always trying to strike conversations with her, and she was aware of his intentions and interest in her. She missed that comfort of a person being there, yes, and Elias certainly wanted to be that shoulder. Yet she could not afford to have many people know of her presence. Sherlock had even introduced her to the owner of the restaurant under the false name of Rose Tyler, and suggested that she eventually consider coloring her hair and getting contact lenses. Because she did not want him spending money on her, she said she would once she's made enough money. On a deeper level, Ana did not want to get rid of her dark hair. Her mother always loved it dark and long, so to her, Ana's hair was a reminder of her mother and those mornings in her childhood when they would wake up early to take care of it.

Ana often found her own self in a daze reflecting back on her life. Her mind was the closest thing to a friend she had, even though it harbored more demons than anything else. Grabbing her coat from the back and locking up, she decided to go for a small walk before heading home. Instead of heading out from the back and going through the garden door of the apartment to which she was given the key to, she left from the front. It was well past midnight on a Sunday night, and the London roads were not as busy as they would usually have been the two days before. She basked in the silence, allowing the wind to beat against her face as she wrapped her scarf around her neck and just above her lips. She crouched her shoulders in to her coat to restore the warmth she had lost upon exiting the restaurant but to no avail, the hole in her pocket was still there and she had refused to take Sherlock's gloves again. After a few seconds of embracing the wind, she started to walk down the street, lost in her own head.

_I wonder what Sherlock is doing right now…_

After about half an hour of walking down a straight path, she realized this was a question she found herself asking more often than she had wanted to lately. She pulled out her phone and opened the contacts, tempted to text or call him to let him know she went for a walk. Just then, the phone vibrated in her hand.

"Text received -

Sherlock: Called restaurant. Not there. Where are you? - SH."

She bit her tongue. What if she just ran away right now? She had enough money from working the past month to afford a ticket out of London to anywhere in England, for now. What the gypsy said was still looming in her head. What if John and Sherlock really were playing with her, waiting to sell her off? She clutched on to the phone tight and disregarded the text.

The phone vibrated again.

"Text received -

Sherlock: ? - SH"

Again.

"Text received -

Sherlock: ? - SH"

She couldn't leave. She had nowhere to go, realistically speaking. No place but here.

Bringing the phone back to the vicinity of her eyes, she began to dial the number. Before she had finished, she fell to the ground with a thud. Ana fell forward on to the ground, head first. The impact of the pavement on her head caused her eyesight to get blurry, but she felt no real pain there. It was her shoulder that had been hit and hurt, with the phone falling on the ground with a crack. The screen had shattered, but the light still was on and she could see his number halfway written out. As she reached for the phone with one hand - the other on her forehead - someone grabbed her legs and pulled her in to the alley parallel to her figure. Before she could scream, the stranger placed his gloved hands over her mouth and slammed her against the brick surface of the alley. A burning pain seared through her shoulder, as the person forced their body on to her. Tears started to well up in Ana's eyes, remembering Thailand and she refused to let this happen again. When the man pushed her in to the wall again as she struggled, she took the chance and kicked at his shin with all her strength. It stopped him for a moment, but Ana kicked again - not allowing him the chance to straight upright fully. His grip on her mouth loosened and she bit his hand as soon as it did, kicking above his shins this time. Her foot met with his crotch, as he fell on his knees.

"You fucking bitch!"

Ana punched his face repeatedly and continued to kick. When he was on the ground writhing in pain, she ran out of the alley - quickly grabbing the phone off the ground - and all the way home. The man did not follow her. When she had reached Baker street, she stopped to catch her breath and leaned against one of the buildings. Paranoid, she looked around to make sure no one had followed her. Each second, she looked back to make sure of this.

When she got to the apartment, she fixed her posture despite how much it pained her to do so. Instead of stopping by the kitchen for dinner, she could not have Sherlock see her right now. He would see right through her. The phone was another story itself. She needed to have that fixed as soon as possible, or even get a new one. She'd device the plan tomorrow. Making her way up the stairs quickly, she got in to her bed immediately without even undressing or taking off her shoes. The phone vibrated in her purse. Ana closed her eyes to ignore it, but it vibrated again.

She reached for it carefully, her shoulder hurting more and more. Before she could pick it up, she sat upright in the bed and slid out of her t-shirt. The bone of the shoulder was definitely misplaced. She took a deep breath, picked up her purse and put it in her mouth. Tears came to her eyes for the second time today, as she bit on the purse and pressed and pulled on her shoulder.

_Crick._

The tears continued to roll as she let go of her arm and pulled out the now spit covered purse. She sat there briefly as the pain turned in to a numb feeling, but a relieving one. The burning sensation had quickly gone down and she lay back, almost forgetting the phone.

"Text (1) received -

Sherlock: Made food. In kitchen if hungry. - SH"

"Text (2) received -

Sherlock: Good night, Ms. Vincent. - SH"

Her shift had started later in the afternoon and Ana did not leave her domicile until Sherlock had gone out. Her shoulder was still in pain and there was a bruise forming now, which he surely would not miss and she could not have that. Thinking back to the events of last night, Ana wiped the counter top with abnormal ferocity despite the pain in her arm. Who was that? Why her, again and again and again? Did she radiate a persona that drew psychopaths and rapists?

Elias observed her quietly as he came to the kitchen to pick up the platter for the table that waited outside.

"Everything okay, Rose?" He brushed passed her, grabbing the drink she had set next to her and put it on the tray along with the food. He was trying his hardest not to make eye contact with her so not to lose his focus on the tray and drop it.

"Just a cramp, nothing to worry about." Ana quickly spoke and turned her face away from him so he could not see her pained expression as she clutched her shoulder and began to massage it. He didn't press the matter further. On his way out, he realized he had not grabbed the fork and knife which lay washed next to the sink Ana stood against with her hands pressed hard on the counter of. He turned back around quietly, feeling as if he was pestering her with his presence and made his way next to her.

Not realizing Elias had not yet left, Ana pulled her hair up in to a bun with her fingers, frustrated, only momentarily when she noticed Elias looking at her shoulder (the bruises) and back (the scars). Recognizing that expression, she quickly set her hair back down and turned to walk away.

"Has he done that to you?"

"Who?"

"That bloke Sherlock you're living with."

She stopped but did not look back at him. "Why would he do that?"

"Has he hurt you? The scars on your back, it was him, wasn't it?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he's a psychopath, isn't he? That's what everyone says."

"People are easily impressionable these days. You shouldn't believe everything you hear from people's mouth, Elias."

Ana continued to walk out to the kitchen, but not before she heard Elias scoff behind her and walking the other way. The table Elias was serving was the last and she was only waiting for the couple to leave so she could clean up and leave after that. Hearing Elias accuse Sherlock of such an atrocity made her stomach churn and she could not imagine even for a minute him doing something like that.

She stood in front of the cash register, pretending to count the money and scribble something down whilst she waited for the man and woman to finish eating and leave. Once they did, she cleared the table and quickly cleaned up, grabbing some left over food from the buffet to take home for her and Sherlock. In a few moments, she saw Elias come out of the kitchen with a pair of keys, and the two locked up and went separate ways.

Earlier in the morning, she recalled John mentioning a bachelor party and that Sherlock had said he was not going to be home that night so she expected to have the flat to herself - much to her discomfort - but she decided to bring food for him regardless. She went back and forth in her head as to whether she should tell Sherlock about what happened last night in the street, but she dismissed it as an idiot teenage hooligan and nothing more than that. She was just thankful she was okay. Telling him would only make her come across like an even bigger burden. She had only just gotten better from the cold. She decided against telling him, for various reasons.

As soon as she got up the stairs and set the dinner on the table, she proceeded to the curtains and shut them quickly and ran in to the bathroom. In her haste, she did not lock the door. In fact, she did not even close the door as she was home alone. Her arm had been hurting her all day and she had refused to tell anyone, both out of fear of her encounter from the night before and also out of pride. Since birth, Ana was a very quiet girl. She refused to disclose her feuds at school to her parents, which inevitably led to her being homeschooled up until she concluded she had no interest in pursuing education any further and would rather teach herself what needed to be taught. In her mind, schools and universities were mere institutions, which sought to make a profit as opposed to actually instilling knowledge in to the youth as it was intended to be in its humble beginnings. She tried to block out the negative thoughts that often ran amuck in her head by the few positive memories that remained untainted of her family...her brother.

Lost in her thoughts of her childhood folly, she unbuttoned her uniform lazily and slid out of the blouse. The tightness of it around her shoulders loosened and she winced as the material retrieved itself from her skin and fell to the rug on the ground. Sliding out of her trousers, she stood in front of the sink in a tank top and her lady briefs admiring her body from the front. She turned to her side and did the same, and then faced her back to the mirror to repeat the process. Ana looked at the scars, shamefully, and tried to make out any progress as to their healing. Amongst the painted scars from her past, a new one began to form on her shoulder and back. It was now a light purple, almost black in some places. It was worse than she had thought. Perhaps she needed to go out and get a few turtlenecks at this rate…or a burkha, knowing her luck.

"_Is this all that I'll ever amount to in life? A museum of scars on my already horrible body?" _She thought. "_Who would love a body like this?"_

They weren't going to go away, she knew that, but had a glimmer of hope they would disappear eventually in time. While that part of her life could not easily be erased, it would have made it easy on her if she didn't have to wear these physical trophies to show for her shame. They'd always stain her body for the remainder of her life to remind her of the ordeal she didn't even know why she was put through what she did. Her and her family were good people, how did this happen to them?

"That's a new one."

The voice made Ana jump as she turned around to look at him. Sherlock stood leaned against the door of the bathroom. Ana bent down and began to heave the trousers off the ground and struggle to get it above her knees. She looked up at Sherlock as she tried to do this, noticing that he was holding a small tub of that same aloe based solution he had rubbed on her arms back in the hospital.

"Don't." Lifting his shirt's cuffs up, Sherlock walked over to her as he set down the tub on the counter behind Ana, much to her surprise. She assumed he was going to apply it on her again as he did before, but she was wrong. Suddenly, she felt him wrap his arms around her waist and pulled her in an embrace with him. Ana's jaw dropped open, her hands still holding on to the trousers only just, trembling against his purple satin shirt. With his left hand around her waist, his right hand slowly traced the outline of her body down to meet her hands holding the trousers up. Ana stood stunned, her face buried in his chest, not letting go of the trousers.

"W-what a-are y-…"

Sherlock's right hand intertwined with hers, the other running slowly behind and making its way to her other hand. A small jolt of electricity emitted from him met her fingers, and she pulled away briefly…only to hungrily reach back out to him to hold on tightly as she could. She winced in pain as his lip fell on the fresh bruise on her shoulders. He pulled back immediately, staring at the bruise with his mouth open. Ana took this opportunity to smell his breath. Alcohol.


End file.
